Touch
by Amongst-Azarath
Summary: RoyXArt drabbles. Drabble two: It's been five days since they've been together. She's craving it. He's not.
1. Touch

_As always, I start something new when I should be updating other shiz._

_I was going to add this onto Tension, but this doesn't really have much in it besides fluff. This may be a collection of unrelated RoyXArt fics in the future. _

**_So.. read, review and enjoy the fluff!_**

_Disclaimer: Don't own._

_Oh. Swearing and sexual references ;)._

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_**Touch**_

She can feel the soft breeze lick the skin of her back. There's a slight chill to it, but it's refreshing on a warm night like tonight. She rolls over, knowing he won't be there. His pillow is crumpled and half hanging off his side of the bed. His half is bare, with no doona and flat sheet in sight. Instead, the woollen blanket sits in a pile at the end of the queen size bed, whilst the black flat sheet has twisted itself around the blonde's athletic and naked frame. She knows he's probably had enough of the sleepless night, endlessly tossing and turning, wrestling with the sheets and trying to keep cool. She has too.

She rises slowly into a sitting position. The breeze works its way through her long fringe, which should probably be cut sometime soon, untucking it from behind her ears. Lazily, she whips a delicate hand through her blonde tresses, flicking the fly aways to one side. She blinks, feeling rather content where she is, but she realises quickly that it's getting late and that she should probably retire to her own room for some proper sleep.

She rolls over lethargically to exit on her side of the bed. She carefully unwraps the black sheet from around her and lets it flop from her hand and back onto the already shambolic bed. She lets her legs slide off the mattress and hang off the edge, not touching the floor. That breeze licks her back again, making her back shiver straight. She pushes herself of the bed and her feet crash into the floor after a small moment of free fall. She smiles; proud of the fact she can finally get out of the red heads bed without_ falling_ out of it. She would have to ask him one day what the significance of the high bed was. It could wait. She could wait. She liked the mystery he shrouded himself with.

She rips the hair tie from her right wrist. Swiftly her hands rise, sweeping all of her blonde locks into a messy bun, which she reinforces with the hair tie. She sighs, completely lost as to where she feverishly tossed her clothes aside to last night. A quick scan of the dark floor boards surrounding his bed confirms that they had been lost. Her lips purse, deciding a used T-shirt would be more than suitable to cover her naked body, allowing her to get back to her room without being noted that she didn't have her own clothes on or the fact that she was coming from Roy's room. The team thinks she hates Roy, and she still does, just less now. She wants to keep it that way. They don't need to know they've been sleeping together for the past two months.

She slinks to the dirty washing basket, almost empty, next to his walk in robe across form her. She picks up the first shirt she can get her hands on. It's grey and large. She brings the fabric two her nose with two hands. It's doused in his scent which, she hates to admit, is really quite attractive. That woody vanilla mix suits him. She hates herself, knowing that she'll probably sleep in it for the next few nights, or until Roy realises it's missing. God, she's such a freak.

She lets the fabric slide over her head, and finally rest on her body, hanging loosely off her shoulders. The grey cloth only just seems to cover her arse. Just. She turns, ready to depart his dark room.

She pauses, smelling that familiar scent of tobacco. She sniffs the air, confirming that it is in fact tobacco from a cigarette. She lingers longer than she should, she loves the smell for some odd reason. If the habit didn't have the consequence of developing cancer and dying, it might just appeal to her.

She notes his grey chiffon curtains blowing in the breeze. The red head is lucky enough to have one of the only windows in Mount Justice. Emergency exit apparently, but she thinks otherwise.

She begins to move towards the window. She swallows back any ill thoughts. She's not sure why she wants to go out there and face him. His arrogant and self-righteous nature will only anger her and then provoke harsh words at an accelerated and loud level. That would totally go down so well right now. However, she's still walking, feeling that something might be different, as she always does.

She's almost at the window now, right in the firing line of the soft breeze.

There has to be something there, another thing she keeps telling herself. They've been fucking behind the teams back for at least two or more months now. Would something ever develop with Roy? It makes her scowl for a moment. She doubts it, considering they can hardly stand each other unless his dick is in her pussy.

She sighs to herself for even trying.

She's standing on the frame of the window, facing the harsh face of a cliff wall about a metre away. The cliff rounds to her left as well, and has a sharp ascent for about three metres before it finishes in multiple staggers of rock with the protection of a metal grate. Like little cave. She looks to her left and – the picture that she sees makes her smile. Roy Harper is leaning the broad part of his naked back against the rock face that backs onto his room, legs outstretched and crossed over one another, dressed in a pair of black boxer briefs. A cigarette sits casually in his right hand, smoke billowing from its burnt end as the hand that supports it leans uncomfortably on the hard rocky ground. The other hand sits in his lap limp and half bandaged, a casualty of their battles earlier in the evening – his own fault, they both know as he was too stubborn to admit he needed help, leading to a bind with five other thugs. After a loud crack, shamefully Artemis came to his rescue.

Her eyes flicker for a moment to the scenery behind him, the dense green and brown jungle of bush land which is the rest of the island, leading eventually to a steep cliff which crashes into the ocean.

He looks up at her, his face content, a rare sight. His hair is dishevelled and shiny with sweat. His chapped lips part as he pulls the cigarette to them and takes a drag, inhaling the chemicals. He pulls it from his lips and lets the left over smoke swirl into the air. His hand swings across his body fluidly, letting the cigarette stand in the air, smoke wafting. She looks at it. He's offering her a cigarette. Her smile continues as she reaches for it. She grips it with a thumb and a finger before bringing it to her mouth. She breathes the smoke in, handling the stick like a cigar she puffs out a ward of smoke. She takes it out of her mouth and lets her frame sit next to the red head. He takes the cigarette back and puts it between his pursed lips. As he inhales, he looks at her, taking in the grey shirt, he raises an eyebrow – he knows it's his. She licks her lips. He grips the cigarette again and lets the smoke explode from his mouth.

She looks to his hand again. It's fat and swollen, dotted with purple and yellow tinges. They both know it's broken, but neither will say anything. He'll probably rise early in a few hours, finally deciding that something should be done and wonder over to Ollie's, or Dinah's, looking for a second opinion.

"It'll be fine," his nonchalant voice breaks her thought and gaze.

She looks up at him. She doesn't say anything, but her look says it all. He rolls his eyes as he looks away. He's glad she's not pushing the subject, it makes him feel… weird when she gets all 'concerned' on him. Subconsciously he passes the cigarette back over his body and she delicately takes it from his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he watches her smoke – and fuck it's hot. Her legs are in crossed legged position and he back leans, like his, against the rock face. Her face is make up free and serene as the cigarette sits between her soft pink lips. Her eyes take in the rocky hard ground surface as her index and middle finger on her right hand grasp the cigarette before pulling it out of her mouth. He takes in a breath, trying to interrupt his engrossed gaze. A frown decorates his forehead, deep in thought. The thoughts swimming through his brain are awkward and non-linear. He can think that she's hot. He's allowed to. They fuck at least seven times a week, sometimes more – four times just last night. It was hot. Their sex is hot. _She is hot_, he confirms to himself. His eyebrows rise slightly. She is _fucking_ hot. She's blonde multicultural and bilingual woman with an amazing body. She's an exceptional fuck. She's a superhero _without_ super powers. She can use a bow _almost_ as well as he can. She's not a princess and she can take a beating.

"In deep thought there, Harper?" Her husky voice calls from beside him. He looks at her. She's holding out the cigarette to him.

And she knows how to deal with Roy Harper and Red Arrow.

He smiles at her comment, taking the cancer stick back. He takes a quick puff before pawning it off to her again. "Too deep for this time of night," he admits as she takes it back. She looks puzzled, but he doesn't feel like explaining himself. She doesn't need to know his brain vomit.

He pulls his legs towards himself, edging onto the balls of his feet. He stands tall on two feet. He begins for window, ready to have another crack at this sleep thing he seems to be failing at lately. He pauses before entering. He looks down and across at the half Vietnamese blonde. It cements his early muddled thoughts.

She takes one a puff of the almost finished cigarette. "You look hot when you smoke."

She looks up at him, bewildered. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is parted. His face switches to match her expression, shocked that that even came out of his own mouth. Her face melts in to a smile as his creases into a furrowed frown. Before he can even receive the consequences of his word vomit, he's already inside and sitting on the bed. He can predict the insults she picked to hurl at him for his weird comment, and he's got his to counter back. As much as he hates to admit it, he likes their banter, even if it's at his expense this time.

He can hear the faint noises of her movement outside, obviously finishing the cigarette. He swallows, ready for her critical comments and judgmental looks.

She enters, the curtains flowing beside her. The smile is still present on her face. She continues into the room, without shutting the window, knowing that he likes it open at night. She passes the bed and he realises she's not going to say anything. It dawns on him. Her saying nothing is even worse. He doesn't know what she's thinking for a change, and he can't handle that.

She continues her walk to his door, leading into the hall. His eyes follow her path. She grips the handle and pulls it open. She looks back, the content look still on her features. Their eyes meet. "Thanks, Harper," her voice is gentle and sincere.

She slips into the hall and closes the door quietly behind her.

That was definitely not what he was expecting, but he liked it. It was _almost_ as good as their banter.


	2. Uncomplicated

_I don't know. I really don't. It's all over the shop, but it's getting posted anyway._

_**Thank you for your beautiful reviews!** I will hopefully get to reply to them soonish._

_Disclaimer: Don't own._

_Warning: Sexy times mentioned, also swearing._

_Please, read and review!_

_Enjoy!_

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**_Uncomplicated._**

She licks her lips. She's almost at his door. It's been five days. Five long days. She hasn't been laid in five days. There's been a dirty phone call or text here and there, but she hasn't _had his dick in her pussy_ for five days. That was huge for the two of them, considering they fucked most days. She sighs, knowing that it had mostly been her fault; it had just been a busy week, compared to Roy who had been involuntary duty free for the last two weeks with his arm still in a cast. She had double the amount of patrols with Green Arrow, doctor's appointments, pop up missions with the team and annoying team mates kept them from making quick trips to each other's rooms at Mount Justice last night. Even now, at two thirty in the morning she had just driven from Mount Justice after a three hour stake out with Dick and Wally. Roy had finally put his foot down, insisting she stay the night at his apartment.

She's excited. How could she not be? Finally some sex after five days!Going from sex every day, sometimes multiple times in one day, for the past two and bit months to nothing for five days. She's craving it, she even pulled out her toy after last night, just to get her through. She can only imagine how Roy must feeling. She knows the sex will be rougher than usual – and that only makes her even more excited. She had told the team she was staying at her mums, and it just happened to be coincidence that Roy decided to stay at his own apartment for the night.

She's there, standing directly in front of his wooden door. All she wants to do is get naked and get her brains fucked out, making up for the last five days. She smiles, feeling sorry for Roy's only neighbour on the same floor. It was going to be a long and loud night. Her knuckles rap lightly on his dark door. Her fingers then wrap tightly around the base of her strap attached to her black satchel. The Satchel contains all of her 'sleep over' needs, not that there really is many; deodorant, a black thong, perfume, moisturiser, a spare shirt and.. that was it, considering she already has a permanent toothbrush at Roy's apartment. She is way too excited. Five days! She feels like she's turning into Roy with her constant thoughts of sex. It was a little disconcerting.

She can hear movement from behind the door and it feels like her heart skips a beat. She swallows back a plaguing thought. Maybe it wasn't just about the sex anymore. Her eyebrows furrow upwards into a concerned frown. Maybe there was something else there. Things recently had been different. They were only subtle, but he was changing.

The door swings open unexpectedly, but she doesn't jump. Her expression softens. The dim light from the hallway offers little illumination of the tall red head. His features are darkened by the shadows. She can only see a smidge of his auburn hair as his ocean blue eyes stare dully at her. Behind him is black and he fades into it. Her brow puckers, perplexed. She follows him in after a startled moment alone. She slowly closes the wooden door behind her and it takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Finally, the light at the end of the hall, which she presumes is from the large window in the living area, offers a little help. Her brow is still creased as she moves quietly along the boards and down the hall to the living area. It's a little messier than usual, but it doesn't bug her.

His plasma television sits in the right hand corner beside the large window. The coffee table has been pushed off the multi-coloured rug that sits in the middle of the room and is opened like a treasure chest. Books, arrows and a pair of socks litter the space around the wooden chest. His brown letter couches line the rug like a boundary, an empty bowl sits in the middle of the one closest to her, the three seater.

He disappears into the bedroom to her right as she reaches for the strap of her black satchel she was death gripping before. She pulls it over her head and carefully places it on the ground next to the brown leather three seater before turning to her right. She avoids his small wooden dining table narrowly as she heads for the opened door behind it.

She notes the lack of light coming from his room. His hanging light from the ceiling obviously isn't on and neither is either of the bedside lamps. It makes her feel a little uneasy, but she shrugs it off. Maybe he's adding a little spice tonight.

The light from the window behind her casts her shadow long and thinly across the floorboards as she enters. The glow from the moon outside gives his room little light through the bedroom door. He sits on the bed, slumping forward somewhat with his upper half naked, revealing his toned and taught abdominals and shoulders. A pair of dark jeans cover his bottom half, sitting slightly lower than they should, exposing his bright red boxer briefs. He keeps his head down, his gaze on the lower part of the dark beige wall directly in front of him.

He's not feeling it, she can tell.

She kicks off her black bikie looking boots with a few quick movements of her feet and goes for her shirt. She notes that he's still not doing anything. Her lips purse, her mind swims with ideas for something to get him in the mood. She can't go another day without getting at least something. She rips off her baseball jersey with both hands, revealing her black and cream lacy bra. She lets the jersey flop to the floor beside her in a clump before going for him. She stops in front of him, swinging a leg over his two. His upper half leans back straight and his eyes look for hers, avoiding her chest all together. She doesn't look at him, knowing he'll put her off. She sits on his lap, her knees bending and giving him all her weight. She still avoids his gaze, looking at his sculptured abs. The hair trick always works. His first, then hers. She runs a delicate hand through his rusty coloured hair, but there's still no response. Her eyes rise to meet his. His face is expressionless, blank and cold. He's definitely not feeling it. She retreats, her hands flopping down at her side. His look saddens, obviously not meaning to hurt her in anyway.

"I can go, Roy," she reassures him, preparing herself to stand up. She's never seen him like this before. Ever. It's oddly.. almost horrific and quite heart wrenching. The red head is usually so sure of himself, always knowing what he wants and not.. sad?. He had only ever expressed three moods towards her in the time that she had known him – anger, passion and something in between nice and civil. This was new. This was.. genuine sorrow.

She rises, readying to leave. "No," he pauses, "Stay," his voice is stern, the way it always is as his two hands grip hers. She freezes for a moment, startled. This has never happened to her before.. well, besides, M'gann and Zantanna a few times. Roy never asks for help. Roy never asks _her_ for help, ever.

She can feel roughness of his cast on her right hand, it's crusty and hard. He's looking at her with desperate eyes, but she can't look at him. It's too.. hard. She hates it when people show weakness, especially in front of her. Especially people like Roy, strong people, people who she admires. She looks at his bed beneath him, his pattern of sleepless nights has obviously continued.

His hands drop from hers, and something stirs in her gut. She feels like she's giving up on him. Impulsively, she sits back on his lap. Bewildered, his eyes look to hers. She can't refuse him. She had been refused her whole life, she knows what it's like – and she can't do that to him.

He sees the look she's giving him and he can't take it. He drops his eye line subconsciously to her crotch, but neither of them notice. He can't stand pity – and that's exactly the look she's giving him.

"Is everything okay?" She quizzes cautiously, restraining herself from touching him. She knows he's unpredictable when provoked.

He nods shakily before his eyes rise to meet her. Her look has changed. It's gentler now. "Yeah, I'm fine," he reassures her, his voice is strong, as per usual. He's managed to pull himself back into line, sort of. He licks his lips, unsure of how to express himself and she can see him struggling, but she doesn't want to push him.

His good hand reaches up to softly touch the hollow beneath her cheek bone. It startles her for a moment and he sees it register in her eyes. He's touching her. It feels weird to her, but somehow right. His fingers expand, gliding upwards across her skin and into her hairline until his palm is flat against her supple skin. His expression is unreadable. She still looks stunned, but she doesn't move, in fact it's almost as if she melts into his touch

There is a silence and it lasts for a long time, probably a minute or two. They just look at each other. His hand stays on her cheek. Her mouth parts ever so slightly and their breathing merges, as if they're one. His injured arm slides into the gap between her crotch and his – a habit. It clicks – his arm. He's _lost_. It brings a sad smile to her features. It makes so much sense now. She realises he hasn't been able to do anything for two weeks, being forced into taking a break, despite the fact that he could still probably shoot a straight arrow with a broken wrist. He's been left out of missions and ordered to take it easy, obviously something that he's not used to. It seems after two weeks of nothing he's finally starting to crack.

He yanks his hand back from her face. "I'm sorry, I just.." he trails off, unsure of himself. His gaze drops to his right side as his good hand joins his other amongst his lap.

She snaps her hand out to grab his uninjured hand, gripping the broadness of it with her two thin hands. He never says sorry. Ever. She admits it's nice to finally hear it come from his lips, but it's not necessary, not now.

"Don't apologise," she assures him, giving his hand a tight squeeze. "It's okay," her voice isn't sympathetic, or berating or condescending; it's just her normal raspy tone.

His head tilts slightly to the right and his eyebrows rise a little. After a moment, he speaks, "can we just.. sleep?" He questions, his voice is soft but still manages to keep its deep tone. It's almost like he's embarrassed.

She raises an eyebrow but smiles. "Yeah," she agrees with a quick nod.

He nods too, a content smiling replacing the embarrassing look. She stands up and swings her left leg back over his two muscly ones to meet her right one. He watches her intently as her hands go for her top button and zip. She turns away, ignorant to the fact that he's watching her. She dawdles around the edge of the bed fiddling with her zip. He's not sure why he touched her face before, he's not sure if he'll ever know why. It felt like the right thing to do, because he knows she won't make it complicated. She never does and that's something that he loves about her.

She begins to shuffle off her dark denim jeans and he finally decides he should do the same. He gets to his feet, his second burst of motivation since letting the blonde in his front door and goes for his button and zip, a bit more of a challenge now with a cast on one arm. She slips onto the bed, not bothering with the sheets, as it's a warm night. She grabs one of the strewn aside pillows and plops it down on her side. She lets her head rest against the fluffy man made pillow, and her blonde hair, tied into a pony, fans out behind her.

The red head slips in behind her, pulling himself in close behind her. His injured arm lies above both their heads at a safe distance, the other snakes across the curve in her body that is her waist. His bent elbow rests in the crevasse of her waist as his fingertips gingerly touch her upper arm.

She's slightly disappointed that they don't fuck, but seeing him like this somehow makes up for it. It all works out in the end anyway, because six hours later, they fuck. Four times.


End file.
